


the only hoax i believe in

by absurdiist (workthewentz)



Series: your faithless love [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Also as a metaphor for love, Fluff without Plot, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gardens & Gardening, Italy, M/M, Poetry, Romance, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/workthewentz/pseuds/absurdiist
Summary: Joseph and Nicholas found a house on the Calabrian coast.1200 words of pure fluff.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: your faithless love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848625
Comments: 22
Kudos: 144





	the only hoax i believe in

Joseph watched the thick raindrops cling to his favorite fig tree, tracing the leaves with the tips of his fingers. The earth was damp when he knelt to check the soil, the water and dirt staining his knees through the wool he wore. It had been a long rain, one that left their garden feeling lush and well-loved. He breathed in deeply, gratefulness and the smell of petrichor in the air filling his lungs.

The garden gate opened with a creak and a smile grew slow on Joseph’s face as he straightened his spine and turned. Nicholas stood inside the gate, a bag slung loosely over his shoulder and a smile to match Joseph’s own spread across his cheeks. He was gorgeous in the evening light, the sun casting soft shadows across his face. Nicholas strode over to Joseph, admiring how his love fit into the wool pants he’d bought at the market a day earlier.

Joseph took him into his arms and kissed him hard, the bag sliding off his form and to the ground.

Nicholas laughed into the kiss, making Joseph’s heart soar. “I was just here,” he said as he slid his hand around the other man’s neck in a warm embrace.

“It was still too long without you,” Joseph replied. He leaned into the touch, allowing the fingers of his right hand to slide down Nicholas’ wrist and introduce themselves to his lover’s. He intertwined their hands, picking up the cloth bag from the ground and bringing it inside with them.

The back door led directly into a spacious washroom. Here, Joseph washed all the fruits and vegetables he was able to coax out of the garden. It had a beautiful open hearth in one corner, where Nicholas prepared whatever dishes Joseph asked for. They’d gotten lucky with this house, really; it had been abandoned some twenty years ago, long before the war, but it was still in pristine condition. The walls had even been eaten through in places. But with a bit of time, and the love of artist’s hands, Joseph had repaired them. The garden was his favorite, though, the fertile soil and constant sunlight providing the perfect backdrop for the peace and quiet he was so craving.

With the giddiness of a child, Joseph began to unpack the bag. The city market was surprisingly active, and the proximity to the coast meant that Nicholas brought home all kinds of ingredients. It was somewhat of a game for them: building meals out of different cultures, discovering the spices and ingredients that the world had to offer. Especially now that they had the time to see all of it.

He was only vaguely familiar with most of the ingredients, choosing instead to let Nicholas read them off as he pulled them from the bag. “Pig belly, for the nduja.”

In answer, Joseph moved behind Nicholas and slid his hands around his lover’s waist, embracing him from behind. He broke off a small piece with his fingernail, tasting its saltiness. Gratitude overwhelmed him, both for the man in front of him and for the food. And never for a second did he allow himself to stop being grateful for the gift they’d been given, to spend a millennium together.

In his musings, Joseph wandered throughout the house, coming to a stop in the great room. He’d started sketching a mural there, a fig tree arched over their garden and the ocean crashing onto the rocks in the distance. He sat down with graphite in hand to continue the sketch, choosing to add detail to the soil before getting started on the colors.

Nicholas wandered in, cleaning his hands on a threadbare towel as he took in the new lines on the mural. “This may be my favorite of your pieces,” he remarked, leaning against the archway.

Joseph looked up at him and smirked. “Better than the ones I painted in Malta?” he asked, his smile spreading into a mischievous grin.

Nicholas’ cheeks flushed pink, a small smile gracing his face as well. He turned back into the washroom. “No, you are right. Malta was your artistic climax,” he called.

“Poor choice of words, Nicholas,” Joseph chided, chuckling when all he received in return was a sigh.

Nicholas reemerged with two plates of nduja, spread onto flatbread, and a bowl of dried figs. Joseph sprung up from where he was seated on the floor and, quick as lightning, stole one of the fruits and popped it into his mouth. Nicholas snatched the bowl back in mock horror. “Can you at least _pretend_ to be civilized?”

Joseph laughed, mouth full of figs, and Nicholas scrunched up his nose. “I haven’t learned civility yet, darling. I’m not about to start.”

Nicholas placed the food onto the table and plopped down onto the rug. Joseph followed suit, bowing his head in a quick thanks, more for Nicholas’ benefit than for his own. That had been a point of contention for the two of them, for a while, before they decided that old habits died hard; Nicholas still believed that there was good in the world, that a higher purpose had ordered their steps. Joseph was a bit less enthusiastic about the idea, especially after the war, but he had to admit that the probability of science choosing someone like him for immortality was… low. So he humored his love, not so much _praying_ as _giving thanks_ before dinner and battle.

But all that speculation was for another time; Joseph picked up the flatbread and took a massive bite, nearly moaning when the flavor hit his tongue. The nduja was smooth and soft, spicy with Calabrian chilies, perfectly complimenting the coarse sweetness of the figs.

He looked at Nicholas in wonder, watching his love beam with pride before taking a bite of his own food. Nicholas nodded, humming in assent. “This is fantastic,” he said with a full mouth.

“Now who needs some civility,” Joseph shot back, but his tone was fond.

When the dishes had been piled up in the washroom and the hearth was a smoldering pile of wood, Nicholas and Joseph curled up in the great room to relax. They chose to take things day by day, never knowing when they would be needed. When Andromache – Andrea these days, Joseph had to remind himself, as he sometimes forgot they were no longer Yusuf and Nicolo either – would call on them. In these hours when the sun was at its lowest and sweltering days turned into sticky, sleepy dusk, Nicholas opted to read or study languages. But Joseph preferred to write.

He wrote about everything, from the fig trees and the ocean to the mural and the nduja. Poetry was his favorite medium, as he felt he could say everything he wanted to in metaphors that perfectly concealed what he didn’t want to share.

 _I am the wind that wavers,_ he wrote _._

_You are the certain land._

_I am death’s shadow that passes_

_Over the flinching sand._

_I am the fig leaf that quivers,_

_You, the unshaken tree;_

_You are the stars that are steadfast_

_I am the changing sea._

_You are the light eternal_

_Like a torch one day I shall die_

_You are the swift and terrible sword;_

_I am but a whispering cry._

**Author's Note:**

> Look I finished something!
> 
> Title taken from Hoax by Taylor Swift (stream Folklore). Poem at the end by Zoe Akins, edited by me to fit the theme a bit more.


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